There flashed into her mind the deep, overwhelming fact that for three long years a rough, heavy hand had held her captive by day, by night, in a pitiless ownership.

She got to her feet suddenly; her breath came quickly, and she turned towards the door as though she meant to go.
At that instant Li Choo slid softly into the room, caught up the tray, poised it on his three fingers over his head and said: "Old Mazaline, he come.

Be queeck!" They heard the heavy footsteps of Joel Mazarine coming into the hall-way just below.
The old man, as though moved by some uncanny instinct, had come back from One Mile Spring by a roundabout trail.

As the Chinaman came out upon the landing at the top of the stairs, Joel appeared at the bottom, in the doorway which gave upon the staircase.

Two or three steps down shuffled the Chinaman; then, as it were by accident, he stumbled and fell, the tray with the beautiful china crashing down to the feet of Joel Mazarine, followed by the tumbling, chirruping Li Choo.
Oriental duplicity had made no wrong reckoning.